


A Wash of Crimson

by theredhoodie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Morbid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one suspected the boy in the red hoodie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wash of Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of angst. I started it once before, but then deleted it, got frustrated with myself and decided to try my hand at it again. I love the end product. Enjoy.

It wasn't supposed to be like this

The world was wrong.

This was all wrong.

Derek Hale just couldn't _not_ be here.

He was _Derek Hale_ , man of leather and scorching glares and unseen kindness.

He was always supposed to here.

He was supposed to teach them about interpack dynamics and how to _be_ pack and not just a ragmuffin group of bitten kids.

Who else was going to help Stiles during the full moon now?

Turns out a werewolf bite only makes his mind run faster and faster; and full moons are the worst.

Only Derek could make Stiles ramp up until he thought he would burst, and he was the only one who could still Stiles with a touch and calm him enough to not go berserk under the moon.

Who would control Stiles now?

"Stiles." Scott's soft voice cut through Stiles' thoughts.

They were in the train station, the rest of the pack. Jackson was sitting uncomfortably by himself. Isaac and Boyd flanked Erica on a beaten up couch, her fingers intertwined with them both. Scott was leaning against a post, arms crossed, face downcast.

Stiles' hands were clasped, elbows digging into his knees as he leaned forward, staring at the grains of dusts he could see swirling around the concrete floor.

"Stiles, we have to—"

"Stop," Stiles snarled.

Scott blinked in surprise.

"Just… _shut up_. Do you not fucking understand what the fuck just happened?" Stiles pushed himself to his feet, hands fisted. Claws dug into the flesh of his palms. "Derek is _dead_ , Scott. Rationalizing that is bullshit and you know it. _All_ of you." His eyes swept over the other Betas in the room before snapping back to Scott. "We should be _out there_ , getting…revenge or doing _something_! Not sitting around here, doing _nothing._ "

"Stiles…" Scott straightened up, hands falling to his sides.

"We can't just sit here!" Stiles exploded, vision going red. Literately. Wolf vision…it was red and shadowy and heat registered as something lighter and the sound of heartbeats filled his ears.

"Stiles…your eyes," Scott said, voice faraway. His eyes were widened slightly in surprise and confusion.

"What?" Stiles barked.

Scott flinched. _Flinched_. "Your eyes are red." The words tumbled from his mouth and he tried to make himself as small as possible.

He was scared. Stiles could smell it, taste it, feel it. He scared Scott? How could he scare Scott? Not even Derek could do that. "Red." The word rolled off Stiles' tongue. He loosened his fists, skin healing quickly. He didn't feel different…but he knew what red eyes meant. He stepped back to his place, the place where he could see the five Betas. Of which he was no longer one of…?

The looks on their faces, even Jackson's told Stiles that was the case. "Red…Alpha red." His anger simmered for only a moment. "Why…Scott should be…"

"Derek wasn't killed by another wolf," Boyd spoke up, ever the smart, quiet wolf. "None of us knows how the Alpha status works."

It was true. Derek was supposed to teach them.

Stiles' mind clouded with rage. He found Derek's words coming from his mouth before he could even stop them: "I'm the Alpha now."

\---

Stiles was the one who found him first.

The hunters…the Argents were down to two and in no mood to fight. New hunters, crazed, Kate-esque types who just wanted to kill all the wolves, no matter that they didn't kill and only harmed those who asked for it.

They ran through the woods. There were few leaves clinging to trees, and an unusual snow storm had blown through just hours before. The forest floor was slick with ice and Stiles stumbled and cut his hands as he scurried along.

The scent of blood was blinding.

It was hard to even tell where the source was.

But he saw it, like a flash, his eyes zoomed into…

He felt numb from cold and disbelief.

"No." The word was barely audible as he slowed his pace, almost stopping, but dragging his feet closer, closer.

There was something sickeningly peaceful about the scene.

It's like the wind decided to stop; the air was still.

There were no birds or scurrying of small animals.

Everything was still.

They called werewolves brutish beasts, but hunters…they were the brutal ones.

Because only an _animal_ …a _monster_ could do something like this.

Derek hadn't killed _anyone_. They just wanted him because he was the Alpha. They understand nothing of the ways of werewolves, even if they pretend that they do.

They cut him _in half._

But it wasn't only that.

Wherever his other _half_ was, it wasn't here.

The ground beneath him was soaked in blood and inner organs were no longer _inner_.

Stiles' throat closed up; his brain couldn't even formulate words to speak if he could.

The hunters strung him up here…left him here on purpose. They knew that his pack would come, but why hadn't they stuck around to kill them? Was this their form of entertainment? Creating vengeful and broken wolves to dead Alphas?

Derek was hanging by his wrists. The only mercy was his eyes were closed, chin resting against his chest.

The worst…the absolute worst part was that they had left the murder weapon there. Because this was murder…there was no way to justify this by just saying "He was a werewolf". That was no excuse to slice his body in half and shove the blade that did the deed through his torso, a symbol of hunters.

A symbol that Stiles would never forget or forgive.

His face stung.

He didn't realize that tears slipped down his cheeks, freezing in the cold air.

He reached out a hand toward the hilt of the sword. He wanted it gone. It ruined _everything_ by being there.

He wanted to get Derek down…he wanted to magically touch him and fix everything.

Something told him this was a nightmare, but no nightmare ever felt this real.

His palm brushed over the cold metal hilt and he flinched like he'd been burned. He could hear the others coming closer, closer, sifting through the stench of blood to find them…

He brought up his hand again, only this time he reached for Derek's face, slack and cold. He had to push himself up on his toes and let out a whimper when flesh met.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

  
\---

No one noticed him.

It was the joy of just being _some kid_ , wandering the streets at night. Passersby probably thought he would be robbing a corner store and getting shot up during some drive by.

It was just the type of inconspicuous cover that he needed.

His hoodie, ironically red, covered his face in shadow as he stood in the shrubs across from the gas station.

His eyes bled into red.

Power coursed through his veins.

The others were near; _his_ pack, he could feel them.

Lips curled into a sadistic smirk as he focused on the conversation between the hunters across the way.

"Fucking wolves," the woman said, making a face and rubbing her palm on her thigh. "Leaving their shit everywhere for the world to see."

Not Stiles. Oh, no. He was smarter than that. He didn't dip his hands into the dirty business of killing innocents.

"Just makes it easier for us to find 'em, Gretta," the one pumping the gas grumbled. His heart beat was sluggish. He was tired and not in the best of health it would seem.

The third was inside, hoarding snacks.

_Now._

Stiles' eyes faded back to normal and he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, hunching his shoulders and shuffling across the street.

They didn't stop their conversation, talking about the latest mess a wolf cooked up. Gone berserk and killed the Sheriff and his family.

"Nothin' but a werewolf coulda done that, Brad," Gretta said, pushing straw colored hair back over her shoulder.

Their companion was leaving the store as Stiles set foot on the sidewalk on their side of the road. He walked in the shadows, narrowing his eyes at the bright lights from the canopy.

The one from the store met them, hands juggling bags of fattening snacks. No wonder this lot was unhealthy.

The smirk came over his face again as the lights flickered out, leaving just one at the far side, by the store, blinking and flickering.

Who knew Boyd had such finesse with stealthy electrical workings?

The hunters exchanged a glance and Stiles stopped walking, aligned with the bumper of their SUV.

Brad pushed the nozzle back into the station and went to close the gas cap. Only his eyes fell upon Stiles, who was standing merely a foot away.

His eyes scrunched. "Uh…can I help you, son?" he asked.

 _Son._ Stiles scoffed. These weren't the ones who had killed Derek. No, but they were involved with _that_ hunting family and Stiles was determined to pick them off…one by one. Nothing could stop him. Even Scott stopped resisting. It was amazing what Alpha power could do for a person.

Stiles didn't move, didn't reply.

"Somethin' up buddy?" the other male asked, squinting and leaning forward, as if that would help him get a better look.

Their heartbeats were normal, they didn't smell of fear and were at ease. All their weapons were inside the truck.

They would regret that in a moment.

Stiles smirked, though they couldn't see.

"C'mon, kid, get outta here," Gretta huffed, waving a hand and looking at him as if he were a bug she wanted to squash. An annoyance…

Stiles could be annoying. But what was more fun than being annoying?

Being scary.

"I've come…" he started, waiting for their reactions. They all stood up a little straighter, eyes on him. Good. He lifted his head and willed his eyes to change, glow red. "I've come to rip your throats out…"

They paled, hearts pounded, fright…they weren't expecting this. They were afraid. He fed off their fear.

"…with my teeth," he finished, shifting in one swift movement and launching forward, claws singing into flesh, teeth ripping at throats.

_No one suspected the boy in the red hoodie._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by these two fanarts: [one](http://mallicious.tumblr.com/post/29367974529/) & [two](http://creaturexlll.tumblr.com/post/26856123256/).


End file.
